


Alive

by Cynosure



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alcoholism, Depression, F/M, M/M, P.T./Phillip Centric, Pansexual P.T., Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynosure/pseuds/Cynosure
Summary: "It's what you want," Phineas responded, pulling back and straightening out the slight rumple than had developed in Phillip's clothing and then his own. He cleared his throat and smiled before lifting Phillip's chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I just wanted to put the offer out. You know where to find me."He wondered how his surroundings could be so calm when he felt incredibly, unquestionably alive for the first time in ages.





	1. It's What You Want

"Who is that young man over there?"

  
His draw was instant, magnetic, pulling the sharp gaze of Phineas in before he had even begun to survey the remainder of the room. There was nothing especially showy or out of the ordinary about him. He blended in with the rest of the crowd; dressed to the nines, each piece of only the best quality cloth meticulously drawn across his figure, not a single dark hair out of place atop his head, nor a smudge dirtying his shoes. The briefest of smiles revealed bright and pearly teeth that almost shone across the room.

  
It was not this perfection that caught the attention of Phineas. Of course it wasn't. Though it may have been something he had spent many years thus far striving to attain, perfection was not high on the list of Phineas's interests in others. It was the strange, undesirable, and unrespectable that caught his eye time and time again. The outcast, the downtrodden, the hopeless. Given, before that moment, most of the people whom he had pulled into his circle had been more obvious oddities in relation to the world around them. As Barnum observed the young man across the room - the darkness in vivid blue eyes glassy with drink, the misery etched noticeably across his face but ignored by those surrounding him, the pure weariness and boredom easily read in each movement as he brought another glass to his lips - he understood within an instant that the creature across the room was no less out of place than anyone he had introduced to their home in the last few months.

  
"That is Phillip Carlyle," Barnum heard Charity's voice emerge through the temporary haze that had settled between his ears. She adjusted her gloves, followed Caroline with her gaze as she approached her fellow ballerinas-in-training. "A bit of a scandal, they say."

  
"A scandal?" Barnum asked, pulling his gaze away for the first time since entering and focusing back on the woman at his side. He hummed a noise of interest. "How so?"

  
"That wasn't supposed to excite you, Phineas. Not exactly an appropriate topic in public," she chastised with a brief sigh but continued nonetheless as Barnum simply stared down at her with a spark in his eyes, awaiting an answer. "It's to do with his... methods of becoming such a highly-praised playwright. Not to mention his reputation as a drunkard, albeit one with decorum."

  
The drinking did not surprise Phineas in the slightest. One man could not hold that kind of damning misery in his gaze and not attempt to numb it by whatever means necessary. However, his eyebrows raised at the former statement.  


"Methods meaning...?" He prodded.

  
Charity shifted, not uncomfortable with sharing the information she had overheard with her husband, but anxious with the thought of someone overhearing her and slapping a gossip label upon her back. After a brief glance at their daughters, she leaned in conspiratorially as Phineas dipped his ear down to aid the exchange.

  
"Making himself _familiar_ with a number of the critics in some bid for approval," Charity whispered. Her gaze as she met her husband's eyes was not disdain or disgust for the young man, but a confused sadness for him. The sentiment echoed immediately in Phineas's eyes. "Though, considering he has the public approval now, I would imagine that it has become more habit than necessity."

  
"Perhaps it's for continued favor," Barnum mumbled as he watched Phillip again, now downing another drink and flashing a well-timed smile in response to the cues surrounding him, though it fell once he became sure that no one was looking anymore. Charity's head shook with a tiny movement.

  
"It's awful," she spoke honestly. "How miserable a life that must be."

  
Phineas pulled the inside of his cheek between his teeth in thought. If there was any way for him to get a foot in with the high-brows, appealing to one of their lowest may be his grandest shot. Though he could not deny this motivation at the back of his mind, he also felt himself spurred by two distinct feelings.

  
The first being the one that he had felt so many times recently, the desire to give people a place to belong. Phillip was obviously itching to get out of his own skin, out of place though all of his movements and carefully chosen words and charm were obviously having the desired effect on the small crowd that he stood among. There was no joy in his smile, no heart evident in his laughter. It pulled at an imaginary string within Phineas's heart, tight and insistent. He could not walk away in good conscience without trying to bring this man home.

  
Secondly, the feeling that made him most bold: an instant attraction of the physical sort. Few knew that Phineas possessed within him his own oddity, his own affliction of his desire having no discrimination or boundaries despite years of attempting to tame it. Like his circus companions, Barnum had spent ages ashamed and afraid of himself, though he was blessed with his freakishness being internal. When he finally hit a breaking point and shared this with his beloved wife, the grandest and most important friend that he would ever have - she merely huffed the tiniest laugh and shook her head.

  
_"I wish that I could react with horror or surprise. Would make a better story in your head,_ " she had murmured, running fingers through Phineas's hair as he stared up at her, vulnerable and at her mercy as he perched on the edge of their bed. " _But I would expect nothing less from the oddest man I've ever known - and I do know you, Phin. Every longing glance, every winning smile. You're so bursting with love that no one is off-limits."_

  
On the day that Phineas had thought his life would fall apart, his wife kissed him with passion before resting their foreheads together and making him promise only to come back to her and the girls and not forget them. He had sobbed into Charity's gown that evening, shaken with relief and shame and gratitude, completely overwhelmed. It was months until he had taken a lover - a man only just his junior, leaned against a pub wall. It had been clumsy and awkward, Phineas feeling a rare moment of uncertainty but guided by the stranger below him. The physical pleasure was immense. He had felt as is a dam inside him had broken, letting a previously bottled up desire roll out and into each movement of his lips, hands, and hips. It was breathtaking. As promised, he returned home to Charity, lighter and further in love with her than he'd ever been. That evening, he had ravaged her as well, his body light and years worth of tension relaxing.

  
Since that first encounter, Phineas had taken a lover perhaps once every few months, always fleeting and never spoken of again. Easy. Charity had many moments of doubt and bitterness, jealousy that her husband had collapsed into sheets with other who were not her, but the evident relief within him made her joyful. He had no emotional attachment and had not misstepped in his role as father or husband since the start of his affairs. They were fine. She was content.

  
In the middle of the reception, however, her glance moved upward Phineas's eyes, sparkling with interest so heady that it drew a soft puff of breath from his lungs as he watched the movements of Phillip Carlyle. More than lust lingered in her husband's gaze. She was not a stupid woman, or even an unobservant one. Before he even spoke, Charity pinpointed the moment that Phineas decided that the younger man would become entwined in their lives.

  
"Miserable indeed," Phineas mumbled, voice far away in thought as if he were speaking to no one in particular. In a quick movement, he'd turned his head downward again, his dazzling smirk pulling across his mouth. "Perhaps... I should endeavor to show him a better one."

  
The statement was not a question, but Phineas's eyes locked with Charity's in silence was a plead for permission if there ever was one. For a few solid seconds, she stared him down, seeing the interest and desire lingering just below the surface. With a small sigh, Charity lifted a hand and brushed lint from his shoulder, straightening his collar. He always came home. Always. She hoped with all of her heart that even if part of Phineas's came to belong to the wayward young man, she would not lose the love of her dreams. Blind trust, as usual.

  
"Phin," she said, tone fond but serious. "Be careful with him. For all of his show, he seems quite... complicated. When you walk in and take over his world like you do everyone's - no, you _do_ , it's fine - be sure that you aren't intending to let him break. He seems sad enough on his own."

  
Phineas smiled, soft and genuine, before pressing a kiss to her cheek. Charity's words had settled within his chest, her voice and wisdom a guiding force that he would be wayward himself without.  
"If I break him, I will put him back together."  


* * *

 

"Phineas Taylor Barnum, at your service."

  
His hand had extended within inches of Phillip Carlyle, who swayed just the slightest bit as he started, coughing around a swig of drink from a flask that he returned to his jacket pocket. The night breeze was cool, but hardly enough to replace his overcoat as he followed Phillip and his cigarette out onto the balcony. The sounds of the party were a quiet murmur behind them, and Phillip seemed to know all too well that the crook he stood in made him a ghost away from the crowd. When he regained what remained of his composure, Phillip took Phineas's hand and gripped.

"From the circus?"

  
"One and the same," Phineas grinned from ear to ear. Phillip found it contagious, a flash of a genuine smile etching across his face for a moment.

  
"I hear that you're a scandal."

  
Phillip blinked rapidly, silent as he was taken aback by the complete lack of manners and blunt manner of speaking by the older man before him. He swallowed, throat constricting with the movement.  
  
"And I hear that you're a scoundrel," Phillip countered, relieved by his ability to do more than become flustered or petulant at Phineas and his crudeness.

  
"Just a showman," Phineas grinned, turned to lean beside Philip against the cool stone wall, shoulders pressed together. It had become abundantly clear to Phillip that the man who'd stalked him outside had no sense of boundaries or personal space. It was fruitless to attempt moving away. Phillip took another drag from his cigarette before it was plucked from between his fingers. As Phineas pulled a long drag before stubbing the heat out against the ledge, Phillip felt suddenly much more drunk than he'd suspected he really was. Quite possibly from the rush of his blood almost audibly moving down his body.

  
"I hear that you've made a habit of joining other men in the night for your own benefit," Phineas stated, didn't imply, which made Phillip's face become hot with either embarrassment or anger. He could not quite distinguish which one as Phineas locked him down with a shark-like grin and a gaze like daggers. "Your benefit being the reviews. Theirs being their pleasure, I imagine?"

  
"I haven't the slightest what you're implying, Mr. Barnum - "

  
"Please." The word came out as a huff of laughter from Phineas. "We're already speaking quite intimately. 'Phineas' will do just fine."

  
"Right, _Phineas_ ," Phillip continued, clearing his throat and straightening his posture as he stepped away from the wall, annoyed as the other man mimicked the movement and replaced the space that he'd managed to put between them. "It is unwise to listen to the rumors of - "

  
"Is it a rumor when it's true?" Phineas said pointedly. "I have it on good authority. The best, in fact."

  
Shaking his head, Phillip drew his scarf tighter around himself and made a step out of their secluded alcove and back toward the entryway, eyes to the floor. The very last thing he wanted to deal with at current was the harassment of a blackmailer, someone trying to exploit the mess he'd become and compound upon it. He was far, far too sober for that. However, he was stopped in his exit as he collided bodily with the chest of his visitor, firm and warm and taking the breath very briefly from Phillip's lungs.

  
"Fine," Phillip said in surrender, his head shaking briefly. "What do you want from me?"

  
Phineas pulled his mouth down in a brief frown, reaching out and resting a hand against Phillip's jaw, barely-there stubble tickling his palm. Phillip's breathing stuttered, and though he felt reluctance, he pushed his cheek into the soft hand. He could almost pretend that it was the hand of a lover, not just a man who he offered himself to in order to gain what he wanted to live with enough money to be comfortable. What he'd been trained to know as comfortable, anyway.

  
"I want to know if any single one of those men has ever given you pleasure," Phineas whispered, his body suddenly much closer than Phillip realized. His fingers traced across Phillip's jawline, resting lightly on his pulse point before curving around the back of his neck. " _Real_ pleasure. Not just taken theirs from you. I want to know if you have writhed between sheets for something other than obtaining favor."

  
With the other man's breath blowing against his neck, Phillip shivered despite himself, unaware of when his hands chose to ball themselves in the front of Phineas's waistcoat. He felt dizzy with want, off-kilter from the suddenness of this encounter. Normally, he initiated everything, began the approach, set the predictable terms and let the situation pan out and be done with. Being cornered by a handsome man - one old enough to be his father, he thought with a surprising thrill - who walked him backward until he was pressed between the cool stone and a hard, warm body was another thing entirely. It made him feel weak and drunk.

  
"I'll take that for a 'no,'" Phineas replied, chuckling low in his chest. He brushed his thumb over the base of Phillip's skull, leaning away enough to tilt his head back and press his lips against the warm, smooth skin covering the column of Phillip's throat.

  
" _Christ,_ " came the noise, barely a word, from Phillip's mouth. The physical sensations, independently, were tame - the brush of lips upon his neck, lightly pinned against the wall, nothing too scandalous. The radiating power of the showman, however, made each touch seem more electric. Phineas was strong, possessive, outward and blunt with his desire in a way that held no shame as Phillip had encountered with so many before. It made his breath hitch, his chest alight.

  
"You're missing out on so much," Phineas continued to speak as he grazed his teeth against Phillip's throat. It was all that the younger man could do to hold on tight, though he allowed one palm to press flat against taut, clothed pectorals. He inhaled sharply, just enough to form a few words. He refused to be rendered a mute.

  
"And you want me to come and let you show me," he retorted, sarcasm and stubbornness evident in his voice. It was not in Phillip's nature to give in so easily, nor was it in his nature to lose so much control that he forgot himself. Phineas was bringing him quite close, but his suspicious nature refused to let that happen. However, he made no move to pull away. It was Phineas who put a small amount of distance between them, softening the touch of his mouth until he pressed a gentle kiss to just the corner of Phillip's mouth.

  
"It's what _you_ want," Phineas responded, pulling back and straightening out the slight rumple than had developed in Phillip's clothing and then his own. He cleared his throat and smiled before lifting Phillip's chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I just wanted to put the offer out. You know where to find me."

  
Phineas leaned closer, seeing the dark clusters in Phillip's eyes, faces nearly close enough for noses to touch but not quite, breaths mingled together in the fall night air. "I can give you so much pleasure and joy that you forget completely about the drink, the parties, the status. You'll come to me. I won't chase you."

  
As Phineas stepped away, Phillip found himself only able to blink rapidly and stare stupidly at the man's retreating back. When he rounded the corner out of sight, Phillips breathed in a gulp of air as if it had been stolen from him completely for the prior few minutes. He panted softly, touching his fingertips to his chin and neck, half convinced that Phineas had been only some sort of drunken hallucination, but he can hear his boisterous laugh inside the party and knows vaguely that whatever just conspired between them was real.

  
He is affected, confused, shocked, and aroused beyond comprehension. Phillip leaned forward to rest his elbows on the ledge and down the remainder of his flask as he stares out over the patrons exiting the theatre.  
  
He wondered how his surroundings could be so calm when he felt incredibly, unquestionably _alive_ for the first time in ages.

 


	2. There Is Something Fundamentally Wrong With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but it felt like a good ending point. Would have gone on too long with the next couple of scenes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE NOTE THAT CHAPTER INCLUDES A DEPICTION OF CHILD ABUSE.**

By this point in the night, Phillip was completely immune to the burn of whiskey as it slid down his throat. He could follow the path it traveled, strong over his tongue and warming his belly as it began to settle, the comfort of it radiating out through him as he sighed. Slender fingers traveled absently around the rim of the glass, ever unsettled as he searched for something to occupy his hands. The play that Phillip had just debuted was remarkable but not in a complimentary way. To him, it was remarkable in that it was by and far the worst piece of work that he'd yet managed to produce. Somewhere in the beginning of writing, there had been a flash in him just bright enough to call inspiration, but following the exposition of the show illustrated just how quickly that light had dulled. It was as soulless as the last play and the one before it.

When he chose to be self-aware, Phillip knew full well how sad of an indicator this was of his mental state. The one thing that he could occasionally use to muster up some uplifting emotion had gone gray, and he drank more and more with each day that passed by to quell the storm that sat in his chest. He was not sure whether those that surrounded him did not notice his descent or simply did not care. The latter would surprise him little. They always were quite adept at turning a blind eye.

It became evident to him that reputation triumphed over truth beginning at the age of six. The incident was as innocuous as any, a young boy heartbroken over what seemed the most horrible thing in the world to have happened to him ever. Phillip, chasing his nanny into their house upon returning from a race across the grounds, had felt immediately nauseous at the sensation underfoot as he reached the concrete. He paused in his tracks immediately, looking under his shoe to observe the lifeless body of a small mouse that he had trampled. Phillip had locked eyes with his nanny for but a second before his face crumpled, tears building up and flowing over with a choked sob. Though any child might have shared the same sorrow at inadvertently killing a small animal, Phillip's sensitive nature and empathy made the situation completely overwhelming.

His mother and father had been in the front rooms when they had heard the wails of their only child, though they were not surprised in the least. Phillip crying was a common occurrence, one that his father had repeated would need to be properly beat out of him if he were to ever function as a man one day. Even though her protests began strong and firm, Phillip's mother was worn thin with impatience and the disdain of her husband at not allowing him to "discipline" the boy. A look passed between them before Phillip's father exited the home, his mother sighing before making her way to the back rooms to read.

Phillip was inconsolable, though his nanny did her best to placate with soft words and assurances. Upon his father's approach, Phillip had croaked out a single "daddy" to him and stepped forward toward the unshakable strength of the man. Father, however, stopped Phillip with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Inside. Now," he spoke as he turned the boy with his hand, guiding him back up the steps. Phillip's head whipped around briefly to his nanny, whose eyes trailed him with a worry that he did not understand.

"I didn't mean to," Phillip said softly, breathing stuttered as he twisted his hands in front of him in a manner far too anxious for such a young boy. "I killed it. I'm sorry."

"For God's sake, Phillip, it was a mouse," Father returned with a roll of his eyes. "This blubbering is unbecoming of you. The constant tears on your face are an embarassment, and it will cease today. You will become no man if you continue with this behavior."

"I'm sor-" the boy had begun before a firm hand collided with his cheek, the force of it moving his head with such speed that his neck ached immediately as he stumbled. His nostrils flared with another onslaught of tears as he held his cheek, blinking up as he watched his father remove his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeves. "Father?"

"Should you insist on continuing to cry, I will make certain that you understand what it will bring upon you," he spoke, removing one immacualtely polished shoe. "It will bring you shame and true pain. You will be disrespected, and mistreated, and will bring embarassment to me. You will be seen as weak. This very moment, you are being weak."

Phillip tried his hardest not to let his lip tremble or the tears spill down his cheeks, but the best efforts of a six-year-old against confusing and frightening emotions were of no use. He felt the delicate drop of a tear fall from his chin just before he felt the sole of a shoe collide with his back.

A shiver ran through the man as he adjusted himself on the barstool, staring at the crowd around him but looking at no one as the memory played in his mind unbidden. If Phillip were still capable of allowing tears to develop, it may have driven him to crying. As it was, he shook his head and signaled with his fingers for another drink.

He had decided at age 20 that he endeavored to be absolutely nothing like his father: brash, mean, cold, practically immune to all emotion. Enough spirit still remained in him to decide that much, at least. He had been in line to take over his father's business and, when Phillip firmly informed him that he would be studying to write for the theater instead, the look directed toward him made Phillip feel six-years-old once more. This time, however, he had drink in him, and the words of shame his father spewed toward him only spurred his fists into action.

Years of abuse and alcohol pumping through his veins made Phillip bold, but he was still young and had no strategy. He was pinned with his face to the floor in less time than the entire conversation had taken, panting and sweating as his temple throbbed and blood made a tiny red river from his nose across the hardwood flooring. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard the voice of his mother saying his name in a way that expressed her disappointment in him, that he could avoid this, that this was his fault. It always was.

"There is something fundamentally wrong with you, Phillip," his father gritted out, knee pressed into Phillip's back as he struggled. "Something that I refuse to have reflect back on me. Do as you will, but you will not tarnish my name. Be sure that you see to that."

Once a couple of years of relatively quiet, albeit lonely, studying had passed, Phillip began producing for the stage. The fear of disappointing his father, being disowned, being the object of that hate again almost paralyzed him. However, from the first moment that he caught the sideways lear of a prominent critic during an after-show reception, Phillip knew that he could ensure his success. His own doubt in himself convinced him to not even give time to let himself build up his own name based on his own merit for what came with that was the chance of failure. He would not be one.

A night with one critic turned into many nights with many critics. Phillip grew more confident, began approaching said men with his most charming smile, the flashing of bright blue eyes that seemed to work swimmingly on them, and with the unsubtle display of a taut backside and open body language. He learned to speak, be taken, reap the favor of stunning reviews, and repeat. He was in control of himself and his fate, and on some level, of these men who could not shame or hurt him. His name became associated with success and intelligence, and though his father did not smile, he also did not destroy his heart any further.

Which mattered little now. Phillip had managed to turn it into ruins himself. Sex held no pleasure for him, human interaction even less, and not even the writing that he once (briefly) prided himself on brought him any satisfaction. The alcohol served well to do so, at one point, but now was only used to aid in quieting the hatred rolling within him to a dull roar.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phillips sensed the approach of one of his regular partners, an older gentleman by the name of Graves whose hair was so speckled with white from age that he had no discernable hair color any longer. He was hardly in the mood, but Phillip turned slightly nonetheless, lips pulling into a smirk as he greeted the other man.

"Another winning show," said Graves, tapping the rim of his glass against Phillip's.

"If you do say so," he responded cheekily, garnering a hearty, deep laugh from the critic.

"I do, indeed, say so." Graves winked at Phillip, and though it made his stomach roll, the predictability of what was bound to happen was somewhat comforting. Phillip knew how to do this. Occupied his time, at least. Graves pulled out and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag that briefly made the image of the circus master he'd met last week flitter across his mind. Phillip had been trying very hard to forget that - far too good to be true - and had been doing a halfway decent job of it until now. Especially when the man next spoke, offering the smoke to Phillip.

"You know you want to."

The phrasing immediately brought Phillip back to that night, pinned to a wall and held steady by hands that seemed to have no motive but to share pleasure with him, a soft voice in his ears that felt equal parts safe and dangerous. He thought of Phineas whispering promises of everything that Phillip wanted to him, telling Phillip what he wanted, but not forcing anything nor taking anything from him.

Phillip glanced at Graves, and thought how a night of being numb and drunk with another man using him for pleasure sounded like death when there was a bright-eyed madman offering to make him feel alive. Without a word and with a small shake of his head, Phillip downed the remainder of his whiskey, slapped down a bill onto the counter, and made way toward the circus.


	3. There Would Be Another Day For Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This COULD have more chapters added at some point but for now, this is where I plan to leave it. I will mark it incomplete if I decide to extend it. Thank you so much for reading! And now for the good part...

Despite blending well into the crowd around him, it took Phineas little more than the time allotted for their closing number to spot Phillip slinking from the seats onto the floor, side by side with the patrons who dared to hang back for a few minutes to actually speak with the oddities they so readily gawped at. The ringmaster's chest was still heaving with labored breaths, body still held in the final pose as he and the others drank in the applause surrounding them. It never ceased to be a beautiful, powerful moment to Phineas, and it was made all the more so by his gaze this time catching that of his companion from a few nights past, the pride and excitement that raged in his chest multiplied by ten.

"Lettie," Phineas said as he stopped his dear friend by her arm. "Show Mr. Carlyle back to my office in a moment, please."

Lettie raised an eyebrow and Phineas flashed her a grin, and if they both silently understood what his intentions were, neither spoke it aloud.

 

* * *

 

When Phillip entered the office, he was greeted by the sight of Phineas's bare back. Phineas cocked his head briefly with a hum of acknowledgment for the other man. A smirk rested on his face, but he made no move to turn and fully give Phillip his undivided attention just yet.

"Do shut and lock the door, please," Phineas murmured, the low vibrations of his voice resonating in the room though his volume was quiet.

Though Phillip still was not necessarily ready for orders, the promise of what was to come was more enticing than the urge to be petulant, so he did as instructed. He took a brief moment to remove jacket, hat, and scarf (no need to be a complete animal) and place them on a side chair before leaning back against the door and observing the sight before him. Phineas shone with sweat, the light playing off of the muscles drawn tight across his figure, adapting with each movement that the elder made. He dipped a cloth into a water basin, running it over his neck and shoulders with quiet groans of contentment and relaxation, and Phillip couldn't help but trail a droplet over tanned skin as it traveled down Phineas's spine and disappeared at the line of his trousers.

"Forgive me for not being prepared nor clean just yet," Phineas said, dipping the cloth once more into the water and proceeding to ring it out. "Wouldn't want to dirty you, would I?"

Though he opened his mouth for a moment, Phillip never managed to make anything coherent come to light but a brief inarticulate stammer. He swallowed and shook his head, vaguely ashamed that he had not yet even touched the man and his words were already failing. Rather than continue to struggle and embarrass himself, Phillip walked slowly forward, stopping just behind Phineas, who had stilled but did not shy away. He pressed his mouth to Phineas's back, open and breathing warm against skin damp with both sweat and water. After hearing Phineas's sharp inhale, Phillip fitted the rest of his body against him, as well, arms wrapping around to press his fingertips into muscles that pressed back with every heave of breath. The amount of pleasure that Phillip gained from this nearly made him uncomfortable, exhaling shakily against the other man's skin.

"I don't mind," Phillip was finally able to make out, mouth laying open kisses on the plane before him, eager to taste and feel the walking temptation that stood in the room with him. He was unable to resist flattening his tongue between Phineas's shoulder blades, drawing it as far upward as he could manage with their height difference. "Getting dirty, I mean."

"Of course you don't," came the whispered reply. After a heady groan, Phineas spun around in the pseudo-embrace, a hand cradling the back of Phillip's head urging him not to stop his previous ministrations just because the position had changed. Phillip continued with only a short huff, using his mouth to lavish attention across Phineas's pectorals, sensitive and overworked and warm beneath his lips. Each sensation excited Phillip - the taste of salt on Phineas's skin, the feel of a nipple hardening against his tongue and nails against his scalp, the sounds of pleasure that the other made no attempt to hide.

That was the biggest thrill of all, Phillip found, hips canting forward as Phineas's other hand found a grip on his arse - the fact that Phineas was not ashamed of his pleasure, not urging him to be quiet, not paranoid nor hurrying to get it over with and go back to guilting himself for who and what he was. Instead, Phineas was boldly humming his approval, muttering things like "good boy" into the shell of Phillip's ear and making his stomach flutter with abandon. He was sure that Phineas could feel the smirk against his chest before Phillip bit lightly at his budding nipple, so he laughed when the other man growled and spun them around. As his back hit the wall, Phillip grinned up at Phineas, whose face and neck blushed with arousal.

"So he _can_ smile," Phineas chuckled, his own expression nearly gloating with pride at having extracted such a thing from Phillip. It took the younger man completely aback that he was truly grinning like a moron, but the self-awareness didn't make him stop, for once. He surged forward, pressing his smile into Phineas's until their lips softened a bit against each other and Phineas slid his tongue alongside Phillip's. It was slick and messy, more of a fight for dominance than a coordinated effort toward mutual pleasure. More than once their teeth clacked awkwardly together when both pushed in the same instance. Phillip took pleasure in every tiny growl of frustration that Phineas gave as he seemingly tried to push his body straight into Phillip's, and Phineas grew bolder with every graze of teeth or tightening of his hand that made Phillip choke on a whimper.

When the need for oxygen could no longer be ignored, Phillip turned his head to the side and gasped for breath. Though he was panting just as fervently, Phineas took the opportunity to latch himself none-too-gently onto Phillip's neck, working down his collar as he sucked in harshly the skin just above Phillip's clavicle. The moan that came straight from Phillip's chest was loud, leaving absolutely no question as to what the pair were up to if someone were to walk by the door at that moment. As a result, he shot his own hand up quickly to clasp over his mouth.

" _No_ ," Phineas ordered as he eased up, pulling Phillip's hand away and pinning his wrist to the wall behind them. Pointedly, he rolled his hips, fixated on Phillip's face and the way that his eyelids fluttered at the action. "I want to hear you."

"Do you want to rest of the world to hear me, too? That would be a problem," Phillip said. Testing, he strained his arm to move his wrist away from the wall, but found that Phineas's hand had no give and his fingers tightened slightly at the movement. Groaning, he dropped his head back against the wall with a helpless thud.

"The world can't hear you all the way back here." Phineas released Phillip's wrist for the sake of working him out of his waistcoat and shirt, both of which Phillip was eager to assist with. "Just any member of my circus who may happen to walk by... but don't concern yourself over it. We're a very open-minded group."

Before he had a chance to raise an eyebrow at the remark, Phineas had pulled Phillip flush against him once more, chest to chest without the barrier of clothing. Phillip found himself affected greatly by the intimacy of it, the way that Phineas ravaged his mouth while holding him close, the slight sway between them a comfort when they were not actively trying to grind their arousals together. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, inhaling deeply and cataloging the heady scent of the marvel who chose to possess him tonight.

"What do you want tonight, Phillip?" Phineas asked after a few moments, pulling back only enough to meet the blue eyes that gazed hazily up at him. He found the sight overwhelming and expressed his admiration without hesitation. "Christ, you're beautiful."

_Tonight._ Phillip hung onto that word and the implication that maybe tonight needed specified because there would be other nights like this. Other nights where he felt intoxicated with arousal and not drink, where he felt hot and alight and comfortable instead of half dead. God, how he already wanted countless nights with this man, though he hardly knew him.

"I want - " Phillip started, having to pause and work some moisture into his dry mouth to give himself some semblance of being coherent. "I want you to take me."

Phillip was so thrilled that he had the gumption to hold Phineas's gaze as he stated it with no room for argument, as the flash in the other man's eyes and the imperceptible tightening of his grip at Phillip's hips made him feel mightily accomplished. Grinning once more, Phillip leaned up onto his toes and pressed his lips to Phineas's ear.

"I even made the effort of preparing myself for you," he breathed, emboldened as he reached a hand down to stroke firmly down the line of Phineas's cock pressed against his trousers. He wanted so badly, squeezing slightly with the intention of making Phineas eager to proceed. It had the desired effect, Phineas groaning out a curse before pulling Phillip forward by the belt of his trousers and making quick work of removing them - although he paused to chuckle as Phillip nearly tripped trying to kick out of them, excited and over eager.

Once both stood nude before each other, they took a pause to simply admire each other with no shame, no internalized guilt, no fear. Though Phineas had adopted this view long ago, it was still so new and freeing to Phillip that it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He allowed them to wait in that moment for some time, reveling, before taking in his surroundings. The desk would simply have to do. His eyes flickered to it before meeting Phineas's stare, raising an eyebrow in question. His answer came in the form of Phineas lifting him off the ground and depositing him on the desk top, paperwork be damned, and pushing him onto his back.

"You're sure you're ready for me?" Phineas asked, running a finger teasingly down over Phillip's cock, passed his bollocks, and into the crease where he eventually found his hole, warm and still lightly lubricated. Both men groaned as Phineas easily worked in his index finger before adding his middle.

"Reach into the top corner drawer - no, the _other_ one -" Phineas began, huffing at the poor effort of Phillip's arms to do anything productive while Phineas pumped two fingers in and out of him at varying speeds. "There is a pot of oil that I had specifically stashed for us - ah! There it is."

Phillip smiled in triumph as he thrust the thing against the older man's chest, rolling his hips back against the fingers working him open. He closed his eyes for a moment and just rode the sensation, coming back to himself with a jolt as Phineas's fingers brushed over something that tore such a wanton noise from his throat that it surprised him. Phillip had never heard himself make such a noise. He'd certainly never felt such a feeling before, either, but looking up at Phineas's smug face, Phillip assumed it was another thing he'd been lacking.

"No one has even tried to find that for you, have they? Poor boy," Phineas said with a genuine sympathy as he gently brushed against Phillip's prostate again, his own cock twitching with interest as he watched Phillip squirm and murmur "my _god_ " in such a reverent way that Phineas longed to make him say it again and again. He teased him for a bit, three fingers in and alternating thrusts with unpredictable stimulation, thrilled by the nails of Phillip's left hand digging into his bicep due to his grip there. When one touch had Phillip thrusting upward and a tiny bead of pre-come sliding over his cock, Phineas knew that he wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. He pulled his hand away, using it to work oil over his own cock as he stood back a bit and stared down at Phillip. He already looked utterly debauched and it sent through Phineas a flutter of pride.

"Take me before I change my mind, Barnum," Phillip made out with a grin as his met Phineas's heated gaze, propped now up onto his elbows. Phineas did not make him wait, pulling Phillip's hips to the edge of the desk before slowly working his way inside of him. Neck straining, Phillip longed to watch the other man disappear into him, but supposed he would have to settle for what little he could see. His mouth hung open, breathing shallow and erratic, one arm still supporting himself while he pressed his free palm against Phineas's chest to feel the rapid staccato of his heart beating.

Once fully seated, Phineas paused, resting his forehead against Phillip's. He did not move in that instant, just sat still with their heavy breathing passing between them, a bead of sweat from Phineas's skin dropping onto Phillip's chest and making a trail there. Phillip had never had a sexual experience so intense, one that he longed to dive headfirst into but also for it to never end. He was torn between wanting to keep Phineas like this forever and wanting to urge him to thrust into him without holding back. Usually, he controlled the pace of sex, said when it started, when it was over. But sitting in this limbo of not knowing when they would move, how long they would last, was bliss in and of itself.

"Forgive me," Phineas whispered, pushing Phillip down flat onto his back but leaning down with him, somehow pressing deeper and causing Phillip to writhe with need. "I won't last long, not tonight. I need - "

"Yes," Phillip answered, wrapping his legs around Phineas's hips and bucking upward, the rub of his cock against Phineas's stomach and the press of the other man inside of him drawing a cry from his lips. "Me too, me too, just... move. Please. Have me."

Phineas did not hesitate, pulling out and pushing forward first slowly, then with increasing speed. He never pulled back too far for the cage of Phillip's legs would not allow him to, but the movement was enough for both of them as they rocked together. When Phineas found that more than once he had to pull Phillip back down the desk toward him, having pushed him upward with the power of his thrusts, he opted to rearrange himself to help the problem. Phineas slid his forearms up beside Phillip, hands sliding under his shoulders and gripping to pull Phillip toward him on each thrust.

At this, Phillip lost all sense of his surroundings, squirming and begging and commanding "harder" and "deeper" and "faster," though Phineas still thrust as he saw fit to drive Phillip mad. When Phineas finally worked a hand between them to make a tight circle around Phillip's cock, it was only a moment before everything reached a crescendo. Phillip's back arched from the desk as he came between them, Phineas leaning up and grasping at Phillip's hips to thrust as he chased his own orgasm, which he found soon after with Phillip's hands gripped tight against his forearms.

It was after his hips finished their half-hearted twitching against Phillip's backside that Phineas noticed the younger man trembling, mouth hung open in a pant and eyes glassy and far away. Slowly, delicately, Phineas removed himself and gingerly pulled Phillip into a sitting position, standing himself and pressing Phillip's face against his chest.

"I have you," Phineas said softly into the damp fray of Phillip's hair, smoothing a hand over his back and beginning to hum softly. Phillip was overwhelmed. Happy, sated, and pleased, yes - but overloaded with the influx of information and sensation and _feeling_ that now greeted him. The pervasive numbness that plagued him was now replaced by a sensation of warmth, feeling light, free, and safe within the arms of this man he hardly knew.

"Relax, Phillip," said the deep, resonating voice in his ear as he became aware that he was being softly rocked, fingers carding through his hair and the lightest, gentlest kisses being peppered upon his cheeks. It was bliss. "Come, let me take you to bed."

Phillip could never remember having been as happy as he was in that moment. He did question though, of course he did, whether this softness and affection was for him alone or for anyone that Barnum took into his quarters. However, just for now, he would choose to believe that he was special. There would be another day for talking.

"Okay," he croaked out, embarrassed by his rawness as Phineas did not attempt to help him to stand, but picked him up from his sitting position. Phillip clung to him like a lifeline. "Okay. Thank you."


End file.
